The Global Man

T H E G LO B A L M A N

2. The man on the mountain

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A l l p h o t o g r a p h y t a k e n f r o m O n e M a n' s E v e r e s t : T h e A u t o b i o g r a p h y o f K e n t o n C o o l

i n t e r v i e w−

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k e n t o n c o o l−

at His Feet

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o c c a s i o n m a k i n g T h e s u m m i T T w i c e i n o n e w e e k , T h e m a n w h o g o T

r a n u l p h f i e n n e s ( n o T o r i o u s ly s c a r e d o f h e i g h T s a n d 6 5 y e a r s

o l d ) T o T h e T o p, a n d a l l T h i s d e s p i T e b r e a k i n g h i s h e e l s T e n y e a r s

a g o . k e n T o n c o o l i s u n d o u b T e d ly T h e m o s T a c c o m p l i s h e d , a n d

a s T o n i s h i n g , c l i m b e r o f h i s g e n e r aT i o n . b u T aT w h aT c o s T ? w h o i s

T h e m a n b e h i n d T h e m o u n Ta i n ?

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Kenton Cool says amazing, a lot. In the first five minutes

of our interview he has proclaimed explorer Chris

Bonnington, the whole of the climbing industry, the

mountain (there is only one), and the entire Nepalese nation

all to be ‘amazing.’ One could wonder about whether this is a

case of limited vocabulary - too much time on the mountain,

too little in school - but Cool is a bright, intelligent man, who

speaks with passion and considerable intellect. His recent

book is accomplished, well-written and well-researched. No.

All these things are ‘amazing’ because, to Cool, they really

are amazing. He is constantly amazed by life, his amazement

and wonder at the world is part of what draws him back again

and again to the highest point on earth; and also to danger,

to hardship, to considerable endurance, to uncertainty.

And he does all this, with two children and his wife at

home in the Cotswolds. How? With difficulty, he says. And,

as we talk, it becomes clear that the balance between family

life and life on the mountain is a perilous one at best. Cool’s

desire to escape, to be away from the minutiae of life is a

constant, all-consuming desire. He is almost junkie-like

in his quest for his next mountain ‘fix’. Undoubtedly, this

pull away from his family at times has taken its toll, and the

constant presence of danger and possible death cannot be

ignored. And yet, he remains in so many ways a thoughtful,

considered man - hungry for new adventures, yes, but

equally happy to sit in contemplative stillness, soaking up

the beauty of the world around him.

On fear: Everest doesn’t scare me. I’ve always been

very respectful of the mountain. I first went there in 2004

and, while I was wary of going to 8000 metres and the effect

that has on your body, your mind, your brain, I wasn’t scared

of the mountain. I went there bristling with confidence, I’d

just done a great ascent in the Himalayas, and some might

say I was brash. But when you get to know something, your

confidence levels rise – and I’ve never become complacent

or let my guard down, but I do have an understanding of the

mountain now.

On cOntrOl: We’ve recently bought a pig

shed outside Bibury (near his home in the Cotswolds),

it’s a complete wreck. That scares me. There’s so

many things out of my control - builders, lawyers,

estate agents, finances. My destiny and my fate

are in other people’s hands. And what scares me

is that they might not have the same vision or

ideology or moral values as me. In many ways I

would much prefer one of my Sherpa friends to

be looking after that sort of thing. People who

have the same values as me, who understand

humility and community, which we have lost

much of in the West.

On clients: I’m different to a lot

of Everest companies and leaders in that I

only work one-on-one with a client. I very

carefully build a relationship with that

person over months or even years. I insist

I get to know the family – sons, daughters,

husbands and wives - and get everybody

on board, so that when we make the really

critical decisions on the mountain, we’re in

it together. We have such strong relationship

and understanding that we don’t have to make

open decisions because we already know what the

decision has to be.

On Danger: This is arguably the most

dangerous working environment in the world. There’s

no form of rescue, helicopters can’t pluck you from 8000

metres up, your body is being ravaged by high altitude. We

call it the ‘Death Zone’, because we are literally dying as

we’re trying to climb to the summit. It’s a race against time.

It’s got to be absolutely perfect. Otherwise we’ll die.

On nOrmal life: There are few places we can

go on the planet these days when we’re away from the hustle

w o r d s E m m a J o h n s o n

k e n t o n c o o l−

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"We call it the ‘Death Zone’, because we are literally dying as we’re trying to climb to the summit. It’s a race against time. It’s got to be absolutely perfect. Otherwise we’ll die."

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i n t e r v i e w−

and bustle of life. I’m in New York right now, looking

out of the window, everyone is stressed, anxious,

there are cabs rushing around everywhere. Being in

the moutains is a cleansing experience. All the fluff

and the periphery of life is stripped bare and you’re

focused on the necessities of life, the next meal, the

next water stop, sleep – all these things we take for

granted. These become a true focus and you come

back with a real sense of what is really important for

us as individuals and as a race. Looking around New

York I think, is this real life? Really? When I come

back from an expedition I’m very much at one with

myself and my surroundings for a few weeks, and

then tax returns and VAT build up with me again. One

of the big draws of going to the mountains – aside

from the friendships, beauty, and the climbing – is

that escapism from everyday life.

On Family liFe: It’s desperate. I don’t

know how to juggle it. When I’m home I’m longing

to be in the mountains, when I’m in the mountains

I’m longing to be at home with the children. Go

figure that one out. When I’m away I desperately

miss the family, especially now the children are

older and they have more of an idea how long

Daddy’s away for, I do struggle with that. But at

the same time you can’t take the mountains and the

climber out of me, every now and again I get this

pent up frustration and Jazz, my wife, sits me down

and says, ‘just book a flight, just go’. Sometimes all

it takes is one flight. I put my skies on, I do one ski

turn and I’m alright again.

On Fate: On the mountain we have objective

danger which you can’t control, but there’s nothing

you can do about it. It’s there. You can’t prepare for

avalanches – I’m aware of them, but it doesn’t worry

me. You can’t fight nature, you can’t control it (we

think we can but we can’t), so that doesn’t concern

me. I don’t believe in fate, I’m not religious, but if

the worst happens, it happens. There’s nothing we

can do to control it.

On death: I’ve been to more funerals

than I have weddings. My best friend, Jules

Cartwright, passed away very sadly in 2005

working as a mountain guide. That gave

me a really hard reality check. What

we do is dangerous and it offers very

little reward for the risk we take.

But – it sounds awful to say this

– losing Jules was the best thing

that happened to me. It’s makes

you look at what you’re doing,

and it reels you back a little

bit, keeps you in check.. Jules

was the best of the best, and I

thought if someone that good

and that talented can die on

a mountain, well, then it can

happen to any of us.

On nepal: The recent

disaster in Nepal was absolutely

terrible. This is the poorest nation

in South-East Asia with some of the

nicest, most humble, hard-working

people on the planet. And they just

get kicked repeatedly in the balls. God,

it’s so unfair. But the Nepalese are very

resilient, they will bounce back. People

are already re-building, they’re getting on

with their lives. I do think 'if that was England,

would we cope in the same way' I don’t think

we would. I think we would roll over and give up.

We can learn so much from the mountain people, they

struggle to exist and yet they’re smiling, they’re happy,

their stress levels are very different to ours. For me it’s

a real learning curve.

k e n t o n c o o l−

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On the past: The past is hugely

important to me. I became interested in

Everest history a number of years ago;

the expeditions in the twenties are

totally fascinating – those trips

encapsulated everything climbing

stands for, the romantic image

of mountaineering, the huge

treks from Darjeeling just to

get there.

On the future: There are so many peaks I’d

still like to climb. But it’s

also about who I climb with.

I climbed Pen y Fan (the

highest peak in south Wales)

with my daughter last week.

My son, who’s three, got

half way up, then me and my

daughter made it to the top.

That must rank as one of the

best mountain experiences I’d

ever had. I’ve climbed Everest 11

times, why should I get a kick out

of Pen y Fan? Well it was because of

who I’m with. That’s what’s important

to me. The journey represents success,

not the destination. Yes we all like to stand

on summits, but the people that you meet on

that journey are the people that make it what it

is. The destination is almost irrelevant.

One Man's Everest: The Autobiography of Kenton Cool

is out now. Kentoncool.com